


You Could Be Happy

by carnival_Souls



Category: The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Theo is a disaster gay, post amsterdam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-05-06 01:39:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14631384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carnival_Souls/pseuds/carnival_Souls
Summary: It’s only when Theo is seated on the plane that he realizes just how impulsive this is. He has no idea what he’s going to say. Hey, Boris, I know this is going to sound really gay, but I think I’ve been in love with you since we were teenagers, and I think about you all the fucking time and I miss sleeping next to you. Let’s make-out??(Theo finally deals with his feelings.)





	You Could Be Happy

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing for them so sorry if it's a mess

Theo gazes out into the dark clouds outside his plane window, half-asleep and half-awake, too drowsy to really take note of his thoughts drifting in and out. The past year has been full of nights like these; hotels rooms enveloped in darkness, flickering light from TV screens, buying back furniture and walking under streetlights, exploring cities as the sky blackens. He had more self-realizations in the past year than he’d probably had in his entire life, and it was all uncomfortable and new and refreshingly sober.

Under cover of darkness, thoughts and memories pass like dreams, and he doesn’t try to push them away like he normally would. He still sees his mother in his memories as clear as if she was still alive, laughing and dancing around their apartment, smiling at him almost like she’s giving him a blessing: _go, be happy, stop being so hard on yourself_. It is terrifying and exhilarating to feel so much at once with no numbness behind it. He still feels the urge to bottle everything up when a fresh wave of pain hits him, swallow a pill and send himself into sweet oblivion. At least once a day he finds himself reaching towards his nightstand or his pocket, searching for a pseudo-pill that isn’t there.

The most terrifying things he admits to himself are about Boris, and it’s not like he hasn’t subconsciously known these things all along, but they still make his heart thunder in his chest and leave him breathless. Theo remembers drunken kisses, bodies pressed together late at night, how Boris looked in his clothes, sleepy and disheveled, the look of concern on Boris’ face anytime he got particularly self-destructive. He remembers the warm, fluttery feeling he got in his chest watching Boris hold Popper, collapsing into delighted laughter on the floor. He remembers the determined set of Boris’ eyes and the curve of his mouth when he decided to get the painting back for him. He knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that Boris would go to hell and back with him all over again if he asked him.

And, _oh my God_ , Theo really wants to go back in time, so he can punch his past self in the face for being such a fucking idiot.

When the pilot announces that the plane is about to land, Theo already has his carry-on bag in hand, leg bouncing anxiously, suddenly alert like he’d just had a shot of caffeine. Despite being closer to the back of the plane, he’s probably one of the first people off, rushing past bodies and voices, not entirely aware of what he’s doing. The next thing he knows, he’s got a ticket for the next flight out to Antwerp, his mind singing a litany of _Boris, Boris, Boris_.

It’s only when Theo is seated on the plane that he realizes just how impulsive this is. He has no idea what he’s going to say. _Hey, Boris, I know this is going to sound really gay, but I think I’ve been in love with you since we were teenagers, and I think about you all the fucking time and I miss sleeping next to you. Let’s make-out??_

Theo sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, anxiety coming over him in tidal waves. He imagines the worst-case scenarios: Boris already has someone in his apartment and she opens the door wearing nothing but his t-shirt with mussed hair, covered in hickeys. Boris isn’t there; he’s traveling, and Theo ends up waiting outside his door for hours. Or worst of all, Boris tells him that he doesn’t love him that way, that they’re just friends, and they’ll never be anything else.

How was it that Boris had put it? That he thought they “just needed girls” and that Theo thought it was “something else”?

In hindsight, girls really hadn’t worked out for him all that well.

Theo catches a cab at the airport and tells the driver a general vicinity of where Boris’ apartment is. The rest of the walk is muscle memory and hoping that he’s going in the right direction.

The look of determination on Theo’s face must be intimidating because Boris’ doorman lets him pass with little protest. Heart thudding in his chest, anxiety flooding his veins, he knocks on the door and immediately feels like fleeing. What had he been thinking? This was so _stupid_. Feelings were so stupid.

Theo is turning on his heels, ready to run away like a skittish animal when the door swings open.

“Potter?”

It’s Boris, every glorious, familiar inch of him, blinking tiredly like he’d just woken up. He’s shirtless and wearing low-slung sweatpants, and Theo is finding it hard to breathe, but he somehow manages to keep it together.

“I—”

Boris takes his hand and drags him inside. “You asshole, is seven in the morning!!”

Theo laughs and pulls him into a hug, resting his head against Boris’ neck. “Shut up, I missed you so fucking much.” Boris winds his arms around Theo’s waist, and they stay like that.

“As glad I am that you’re here…why are you here?”

Theo pulls away and looks down at the floor for a second to gather himself. “Okay, I’m not good at this so bear with me. I love you. I’m pretty sure I’ve been in love with you since that first time you made fun of me and we sat on the bus together. I know it sounds stupid to say it now, but I’ve had a lot of time to think about it, and I just needed to tell you. I'm tired of lying to myself.”

There’s a long, heavy pause of silence where Boris is shocked and looking at Theo with an unreadable emotion in his eyes.

“Oh my god, this is a disaster. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way. I’ll just—”

Boris cuts off his rambling by grabbing his face and kissing him. “Potter, you idiot! I’ve been in love with you forever. You think I would nearly get myself killed for anyone else? Oblivious!”

“I thought you were never interested in me that way. You practically told me you weren’t. What was I supposed to think?”

Boris looks away guiltily. “You’re not the only one who lies to himself. Is much easier than dealing with the truth.” He cups Theo’s cheek thoughtfully, rubbing his thumb over faded freckles like he’s remembering.

It’s the easiest thing in the world to push him against the wall and kiss him. Theo threads his fingers through messy hair and pulls Boris into a searing kiss, and then he’s nipping at Theo’s bottom lip and clutching at his back and Theo is moaning into his mouth. Theo feels like he’s falling apart and then coming back together. _Holy shit, why did we only do this when we were drunk?_

Theo lowers his hands from Boris’ hair to the sharp points of his hipbones, thumbs pressing and circling against them as he licks into Boris’ mouth. Even though they haven’t done this in years, it feels like they never stopped, like they’ve been doing this since the beginning of time. Boris is a constant.

Boris pulls away panting, huffing in frustration as he tries to unbutton Theo’s shirt. “This stupid shite. Why are your clothes so hard to get off, eh?”

Theo hums in response, easily undoing the rest of his shirt buttons and slipping the shirt off his shoulders. Boris kicks off his sweatpants, and they both leave a trail of clothes throughout the hallway, kissing languidly, hands roaming everywhere they can touch. Boris guides Theo to his bed, and they collapse onto it giggling like they’re drunk teenagers again. Boris’ eyes are bright and shining, and his cheeks are flushed red, and he’s so heartbreakingly beautiful. Theo feels like he’s melting.

Boris grins lazily against his shoulder. “Potter, this is really gay.”

Theo sucks on a spot beneath his ear, making him hiss sharply. “Boris, if you think about it, we’ve always been pretty gay.”

“Fuck, not complaining. Is much better when we’re not shitfaced, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Theo breathes. And he knows he probably looks sappy as hell, but he really can’t help himself.

Boris has his legs wrapped around Theo’s hips, panting in his ear. They’re rolling their hips, bodies moving in perfect tandem. Theo is so fascinated by every inch of him, so familiar yet foreign at the same time. He explores the angles of Boris’ collarbones, kisses along the flat planes of his stomach, the slight swell of muscle in his biceps.

“Hey, do you remember this?” Theo takes Boris’s hand in his own, deliberately looking in his eyes as he presses fingers to his mouth reverently, like a prayer.

Boris smiles softly at him. “Yeah, you punched me in the face and hurt yourself! I had to kiss it better. Is my job.”

Love swells up in Theo’s heart, and to keep from saying something overly emotional, he kisses him again.

Eventually, Boris whines impatiently into Theo’s mouth and flips them over so he’s straddling Theo’s waist. And Boris is grinding his hips in the most wicked way, grinning when Theo moans louder.

“God, Boris, you’re going to be the death of me.”

From there, it’s fast and rough. Boris is stroking both of them at once, and Theo is clawing at his back, gripping his hips. The friction is so, so good, almost too much, and Theo is so dizzy with pleasure he feels like he’s floating. He feels strangely vulnerable, like he’s revealed too much of himself.

Boris notices and stops moving. He moves Theo’s arm away from his face and intertwines their fingers. “Shh, Potter, is okay. Look at me.”

He looks up at him, and his eyes are tender and reassuring. Theo relaxes and rests his forehead against Boris’s shoulder. Boris continues where he left off, speeding up his strokes, and when Theo feels like he’s about to come, he slows them again.

“Stop doing that, you dick!”

Boris laughs. “Sorry, sorry!”

Boris brings them both off, and Theo cries out as he comes, biting into Boris’s shoulder. Boris finishes and collapses on Theo’s chest in a heap.

“Potter, I am about to spoon you so hard, so prepare yourself,” Boris mumbles sleepily against his chest.

“I think I can handle it.” He doesn't plan on going anywhere.

Theo falls asleep with Boris’s arms draped around his waist and their legs intertwined.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr at badr-al-dinee!!! I would love to talk to you.


End file.
